


A Woman Scorned

by LadyPuck



Series: the star to every wandering bark [1]
Category: DCU, Greek and Roman Mythology, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Hera's angry, but like the tag says, it gets SAD because the movie gets SAD, just a marvel girl, just ask all the dudes and ladies Zeus has banged, ok more angst than expected, writing in a dc world, you won't like her when she's angry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-13 11:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11184582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyPuck/pseuds/LadyPuck
Summary: Hera overhears Diana and Steve's conversation about marriage.She is less than pleased.





	1. The Marriage of True Minds

“How _dare_ she.”

The words were spoken tersely, somehow containing all the shrill sounds of an angry peahen within a controlled whisper.

A blonde head poked up from a floral settee.

“What’s that now, dear?”

A scowl on her face, the first speaker, a short, curvy woman who was pretty despite the look of wrath on her face, stomped over with a mirror.

Her companion, a statuesque blonde with skin so dark it drew in light and captured its glow, gazed at the oncoming storm serenely.

“Dearest Hera, how _do_ you manage to make ‘righteous but petty fury’ look so very pretty? Has your face merely adapted to millennia of Zeus-induced ferocity?”

The glare she received was so full of venom she wisely decided not to press for an answer.

“The littlest Amazon, Aphrodite. She has spoken against me, she has spit upon the face of my _noblest_ work, she—” Hera shoved the mirror at Aphrodite’s face, waving a hand over it to show the terribly horrendous moment.

**_Against the backdrop of the ocean, a young woman asked, bundled in a cloak and puzzled, “Marriage?” She goes on to banter with a man about its worth, irreverent and ignorant._ **

Aphrodite’s perfect brow lifted, a smile quirking her mouth upwards.

“Yes, well, do remember, darling, the Amazons might have a _bit_ of a reason to want to forget your…blessings.”

Hera sniffed, pointing a perfectly pug–like nose in the air. Aphrodite hid a smile – she did so love that nose.

Noting the other woman’s genuine upset, she sobered, rising from her sprawl, as graceful as foam from the waters. She plucked the mirror from resisting hands and set it aside.

“When will you let go of the past, dearest? It has been centuries, a war and the diminishing of our kind. Zeus broke his vows to you time and time again, it is true – but he is gone and you are here. I am here. Am I not enough?”

Aphrodite, whose beauty could not be properly expressed with words, looked at her with adoration-filled eyes.

Hera’s own eyes closed briefly, the devotion overwhelming for a woman still unused to holding the most cherished place in someone’s heart. Then she opened her eyes to glance again at the mirror, picking it up and idly brushing her fingers over its liquid mercury surface.

“You are more than enough, Dite.” As the other goddess caught her up in an embrace, Hera sank into the warmth, and then froze, seeing something in the muddled mirror.

Well. That was…tragic.

Hera, as she often did, unwillingly and willingly, thought about Zeus.

She thought about the shame of his abandonment.

Of his trifles, his dryads, his mortals, his…Amazon.

Of the look in his eyes, when he gazed on the golden glory of Hippolyta.

Of how it matched the look in Aphrodite’s eyes.

The look in this young warrior’s eyes.

Diana’s eyes.

Hera’s fist clenched, still dipped into the mirror.

Stiffening in Aphrodite’s arms, she called up what powers she had gathered to her, painstakingly, over the long years. Every marriage celebrated, every bond made (and there were many before a war) gave her a grain of power back and now, she decided, was the time to use it all.

Pulling away, she made the shadows writhe around her and her voice terrible to hear.

Aphrodite watched, gorgeous face like stone, too drained from the many war-broken bonds of love to stop what was going to happen.

Raising her hand into the air, Hera thundered out her judgment.

“Diana, Princess of Themyscira, you have spoken against Hera, goddess of marriage. She finds it fit and just for you thus to be cursed.”

Aphrodite, remembering Artemis, Apollo, and Heracles, could not help herself.

“Hera, no! You would waste your strength on this insignificant revenge?”

Hera’s face broke into a grin that a shark would have been proud to bear. Her terrible voice softened for a moment.

“I waste nothing.” Spinning her hand in the air, a golden orb began to form and shrink down into a glowing, molten sphere in her grasp. A wave of her hand and it formed a chain ending in two circles, like cuffs.

“Diana, you who have blasphemed against mine office, you shall feel the ball and chain of marriage, enjoined with the first man you see, whoever he may be, cruel, ugly, coward, or fool.”

The chain flowed into the mirror, disappearing into the image it now reflected of the sleeping Amazon. As they watched, one glowing ring attached itself firmly to her left ring finger. The glow died down and the curse became invisible, waiting for its next, and last, victim. A subtle motion dropped the pièce de résistance into place, gleaming jewel-bright in a rucksack.

Hera’s majesty melted around her and she became once more a tired-looking woman, pretty but with grey threaded in her mousy brown hair. She looked at her Aphrodite, goddess of love, warily, waiting for recrimination from a woman who had long ago given up the vicious, petty revenges of Olympus.

Instead, Aphrodite looked thoughtful.

“Hera.”

“Yes?”

“Hera, they’re in the middle of the ocean.”

“Yes, I know.”

“They’ll be alone for days. No other people, no other…men.”

Hera’s pretty, tired features were suffused with a flustered blush.

“Hera, even my weakened powers can tell what is blossoming –“

“It is _my_ will, _my_ justice, that she shall suffer the marriage bond and see him _wither_ as she remains eternally young and—”

Aphrodite gave her a _look_ and she blushed harder, petulantly pushing forward her bottom lip.

“Well, dear one, I know how thoroughly you mete out your punishments.” She came forward to brush a hand through the brown-grey curls. “So thoroughly you’ve exhausted yourself for another decade or so, if my estimates are correct.” Smiling fondly, she drew her into the gardens and a very comfortable bower. It was time to reward the goddess of marriage for her successful revenge plot, starting with a nap.

*

Diana grew up among her mother’s people without much knowledge of her father’s. This, her mother reasoned, was to help keep her from trouble. It meant, however, there were significant gaps in her education, causing trouble of a different kind.

When she woke on the swaying boat a day into their journey to find Ares, she felt her left hand tingle. Examining the hand showed the slightest of golden glimmers, effervescent and hard to focus on.

She frowned at it, before looking around the small craft for Steve.

“Ste—” Her mouth closed abruptly as something seemed to pull her forward towards him, left hand leading the charge. A ringing tone sounded in her ears and as she looked at him, something shifted inside of her, singing, _yes_ , _this one, mine_.

And just as suddenly the song quieted, her balance was restored, and concerned blue eyes were gazing into hers.

“Diana? Are you alright?”

Shaking her head to clear it, she smiled at him, unsure of how to describe what had happened.

“I am well, Steve Trevor. Perhaps we should break our fast?”

Steve smiled at her. “Depends what you brought along.” Recalling the one feast he attended, he made a face. “Can’t say I’d want more of that spleen stuff.”

“Splinantero,” she corrected him. “It is a favorite of one of the senators.” She grinned mischievously. “The favorite of _only_ one of the senators, who is partnered with the head of the palace kitchens. It is served at every meal but no one else has eaten, or has been tricked into eating it, for centuries.”

While he sputtered about being told it was customary, it was expected, it was a great insult not to try such a delicacy, Diana went to the rucksack she had packed with purloined supplies. Grasping a pair of apples she didn’t remember filching from the kitchen, she tossed one to Steve.

He narrowed his eyebrows suspiciously at the fruit, gleaming the golden hue of treasure, but remembering his bathwater’s glow and seeing Diana chomping away with gusto, gamely bit into its skin.

“Oh my God, this is incredible!” He inhaled the apple, trying but failing to savor the sweetness. “I’ve never tasted anything like this!”

Diana lifted her brows at his enthusiasm. “Have you never tasted an apple, Steve Trevor?”

“Yes, of course, but this, this tasted like, I don’t know, like liquid gold and champagne? It’s amazing”

Shrugging, Diana ate the rest of her apple, thinking the world of Men must be lacking in those skilled at farming and the culinary arts for an apple to draw forth such a reaction.

She never noticed that her apple was green, not the shimmering gold of the one in Steve’s hand.


	2. Even to the Edge of Doom

They arrive in London, and then leave it in short order, for a pit of blood, mud, and despair.

Diana’s compassion rubs something raw in Steve’s chest.

Steve's faith as he charges across the no man’s land behind her fills Diana with something shining.

Diana blazes across the battlefield, into the town of Veld, and all the while Steve follows her, supports her, respects both her strength and kindness.

In the square, as snowflakes fall, they dance together.

In her room, his watch ticks as they make love.

 

*

 

At the Gala, Steve flirts and feels dirty in a way he never felt before, using his above average looks to catch the eye of a woman he despises. Still, he tries, because they need this information.

Then he sees Diana from the corner of his eye and he’s lost.

 

*

 

Diana feels like a thunderstorm has lodged itself in her throat as she bitterly rails against Steve. The loss of Veld is fresh, the rush of victory sudden, and a bitterness hangs on her tongue.

She had set them _free_.

Ares is gone.

And yet the humans are milling about like demonic ants intent on destruction.

This cannot be what she has given up her home for.

This cannot be her mission.

_No._

_*_

 

Ares finds her.

Steve finds the plane.

 

*

 

She fights, she fights as she has never fought before, and knows _it is not enough._

He thinks, plots frantically, half-baked plans running through his mind, and knows _there is no other choice._

 

_*_

 

They meet in the fiery remnants of the air-field, ships passing in the night.

He loves her.

She is deaf to it.

 

*

 

Steve fires the gun.

There wasn’t much to it.

A moment, a tiny moment, of everything, every fear, hope, regret, passion.

A moment of his family, his friends, his future – a moment of Diana.

Then – he fires the gun.

 

*

 

Diana has never felt _pain_ like this, wrapped in steel sheets that weigh heavier than her mother’s fears, Antiope’s expectations, her own crushing doubts. Her mind is blank, caught up in her body’s agony.

She looks up to the sky and sees a dark shape. The plane.

_Why is it important?_

Her dazed thoughts halt as the plane explodes, orange and red against the darkening sky.

The pain of the steel is suddenly nothing but she is screaming, screaming, screaming, wretchedly.

_Why. Why? Why!?_

“ _STEVE_!”

She is again filled with pain.

The pain feels like power.

She masters both.

 

*

 

Diana, as her mother and aunt knew she would be, is resplendent.

Her body is strong, her beauty painful, her soul brilliant as a diamond.

Her heart is a no man’s land, barbed and barren.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laura, whoever you are, thanks for pointing out the Greek engagement fruit. I had no clue - it was a total happy accident. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone. See you next chapter.


	3. An Ever-fixed Mark, That Looks on Tempests and is Never Shaken

 

She insists on finding the wreckage, riding through miles of forest peppered with metal and glass.

Steve’s friends follow in silent tribute, wanting to offer anything they can.

(They know, better than Diana, what horror Steve’s body will bring, burnt and mangled, if it is ever found.)

In the end, it only takes a day to locate what’s left of the cockpit.

Diana, face hard, steps in alone, despite the protests of the others.

What she sees breaks her, as Ares could not.

There is a body at the controls.

It is burnt; the dirty white of charred bone peeks through destroyed flesh.

He is gone.

She wraps it, this shell of her lover, in sheets of white, placing gold coins on the ruins of his eyes.

Diana allows the others their goodbyes, and then strikes out for the ocean, commandeering the first sea-worthy craft she finds.

 

*

 

She sails to Themyscira, working the ship on her own, glad for the mind-numbing work.

Once, she tries to sleep, only to wake to horrific nightmares that place  _his_ sea-blue eyes in the husk that lay wrapped tightly next to her, a mockery of that first night together.

She does not try again.

*

The shores of her home greet her as she emerges from her father’s fog and within moments she sees Amazons gathered, bows at the ready to meet invaders.

When they see it is their princess, they begin to ululate, trilling a welcome to their triumphant sojourner.

She docks the boat as her mother, stately as always, yet obviously in a hurry, comes to meet her.

Carrying the wrapped body in her arms, she walks toward her mother.

The corpse feels heavier than before; she imagines it is the weight of grief haunting her as she steps onto the shore where they first met.

She had saved him, then.

She had failed in the days to come.

Her mother says nothing, only laying one hand on Diana’s forehead in benediction and the other on the cloth-covered body carefully held in her daughter’s arms.

 

*

 

Diana refuses to relinquish her burden, carrying it to a grotto to unwrap and prepare the body of her lover as best she could.

Hippolyta refuses to let her do it alone, following silently in black robes.

She sets him down on carved stone and changes into the customary mourning robes, wordless as her mother. Her hand brushes over the watch.

Her heart is just as silent—every step of the funerary process seems to bury it deeper into coldness.

Part of her is unable to accept his passing, something in her tugging still towards the husk of a man, something that cried out fiercely, pained but alive.

Every other bit of her is resigned.

She can imagine a future where she returns to the world of Man, where she fights for the weak, fights against the oppressors who would seek to murder and subjugate.

She will eat, sleep, and live the centuries ahead of her with purpose.

Diana will smile, make love, perhaps love again.

But she knows, deeply and instinctively, she will never know the pure joy, the freedom of spirit, the intense connection to another being she felt every time she was in his presence, whether they were laughing or fighting.

Diana has lost something precious.

She tries to console herself, logic putting up a heroic stand in the back of her mind.

He was flawed. He was practically a stranger. He was mortal.

He was good and brave. He had _known_ her as few ever had. He was hers.

Her voice cracks as she speaks her first words on the island, the first since she had left Europe with the wreck of his body and the remains of her heart.

“I wish we had more time.” The pain of the gravely, hesitant words brings tears to Hippolyta’s eyes. This is an agony she has never wished for her daughter, one she cannot protect her from.

Together, they remove the wrappings as Diana weeps freely, tears dripping unnoticed onto her hands and the body.

“Prepare yourself,” Hippolyta gently commands when they reach the last layer.

Diana knows it is an impossible command and continues her grim work, peeling back layers of fabric stained with blood, soot, and worse.

And then—then.

She stares, as unable to think as when Ares tried to squeeze the life out her.

“Diana,” Hippolyta breathes in wonder.

Diana has stopped breathing, in wonder or otherwise.

Smooth, warm skin, stretched taut over healthy muscle and bone.

_Above average._

Hair, burnished gold, slightly overlong.

_He impatiently swept his fringe out of the way as he implored her to help, help save millions, save him._

Chest moving gently as he breathes in and out, in and out.

_His chest pressed against hers in the tiny bed, replete and peaceful for a moment. She could feel his every breath echoing hers as they fall into a contended sleep._

As her tears continue to fall, they hit his face and spatter like drops of warm rain. In response, his eyes try to blink under the heavy gold coins, face shifting in discomfort.

Hurriedly, Diana plucks off the tokens for Charon, breathing now but unsteadily, oh so unsteadily.

Eyes blue as the ocean, bright as a blade blink open, confused but _alive_ , how could he be _alive._

Through her tears she sees specks of gold, new, in his eyes, and suddenly feels terror.

Grabbing the Lasso, hands shaking, she wraps it around his wrist, firmly.

He coughs, once, twice.

“Diana?” Thready and weak, his voice is his. He knows her.

But she is not sure she knows him.

“Who are you?” she demands, her fury and fear fed by her terrible hope.

“Steve Trevor.” He smiles up at her. “British intelligence. Your hus—”

She hears nothing after his name, falling over him to kiss his face a hundred times, weeping harder than before. He is crying, too, knowing something monumentally miraculous has occurred.

Diana shoots up suddenly, scrambling to her uniform as he stares after her bemusedly.

Stumbling back in her haste to touch him again, she drops to his side once more, holding in her hand his father’s watch.

Steve’s throat grew tight, wondering if she was about to reject the words he gave her with it, if she had even heard his declaration.

“Steve Trevor,” she says, shakily, intoning his name with a gravity no one else had ever given it. “I love you, too.”

His eyes are bright blue and golden and filling with tears as she fastens the watch around his wrist lovingly.

In the back of his rather dazed mind, he is reminded of the few wedding ceremonies he has seen, the declarations of love followed by a ring slipped onto a finger.

Even farther back in his mind, he halfheartedly wonders if Diana _would_ marry him. The thought is buried by sharp self-doubt, the disorientation of apparently surviving his heroically suicidal venture, and the rather intense kiss Diana is in the process of bestowing upon him.

*

 

Diana does not notice Steve’s half-completed, Lasso-compelled word.

Steve does not pay any real attention to the symbolism of his watch’s return.

Neither notices the subtle golden sparks around them, bright for a moment, before settling down again.

 

*

 

Hippolyta, on the other hand, is watching with sharp eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next chapter.


	4. Love Alters Not

 

They calm down, eventually.

Hippolyta, forgotten, offers her greetings to him, as cool as if he had returned from a brief pleasure jaunt, rather than presumed death, before disappearing.

After she leaves, a grimy Steve begs for a bath, wobbly on his feet and needing Diana’s support. She doesn’t mind; if he needs the support, she needs just as badly to give it to him. Diana helps him to the water and holds him, caressing his arms and legs with soap, washing away any reminder of fire and pain.

He remembers the pain, he confesses to her, curled into her protective arms as glowing blue water laps at them. She wishes she could kill the memory for him, thrust her sword through his agony and fear until they retreat. She can’t. So she holds him and murmurs reassurances and love.

“How did I survive?” Steve finally asks, after they are dry and garbed in clean, flowing robes a circumspect hand had left for them. Diana would have left the grotto naked rather than put on the funerary robe that was the only other clean item available.

Walking slowly by his side as they headed to her quarters, she shakes her head.

“I do not know,” she admits, frowning. “My mother told me stories about mortals as a child but never of a mortal surviving such terrible wounds.” She forces her thoughts not to linger on the image of those wounds; she succeeds only by focusing on his face, screwed up with the effort of walking, and wonderfully alive.

“In the few stories she told me, favored mortals were on occasion cast into the stars after their deaths.” Chuckling, she wryly adds, “Though I must admit my mother’s stories hold less credulity with me in the light of recent events.”

Steve grins back at her.

“What, not sticking with the ‘made of clay!’ story?”

Shaking her head, Diana smiles warmly before looking thoughtful.

“Perhaps she will be more truthful with me now that Ares is no longer the threat she feared.”

He is quiet for a beat, and then asks softly, “He’s dead, then?”

Startled, Diana stops and looks at him, realizes they have reached her rooms, and ushers him through the ornate doors.

Sitting him down amid soft furs and woven blankets, she curls around him.

“Yes, Steve Trevor. Ares is dead.” She presses a kiss to his warm, responsive lips. “I apologize – I have not thought of what you do not know.”

“The gas—”

“You saved them, Steve,” she reassures him, chagrined that she had not already told him. Reading her face, he squeezes her hand, forgiving her in an instant. After all, he has been similarly distracted. She forges on.

“You destroyed the plane. I—I thought you lost, I believed—I _knew_ you were dead.” She feels tears in her eyes and wonders at the fact that she has any left to cry. His hand is in hers still, stroking it in reassurance.

“It—you _broke_ something in me, Steve Trevor. And suddenly I felt a power as strong as my love coursing through me. It was enough. Ares could not win.” She explains her complicated familial relationship with the god of war, the temptation he offered, the power of Steve’s own words in swaying her. And then—

“Steve.” She smiles at him, a complicated thing. “The war to end all wars is over.”

He sucks in a deep breath, relief and shock coursing through him.

This was a cause he had made his own, or, rather, one he had realized was a part of him already. He had left home, safety, and family to fight in a war that was the deadliest the world had ever seen, on the strength of his convictions.

That it was now over and he was still living is disorienting, bitter, and perhaps the sweetest thing he has ever known.

They sit in silence once more, Diana comfortable holding him as he begins the arduous process of accepting a peace he has desperately fought for.

 

*

 

A knock disturbs the silence some time later, followed by Hippolytas’ entrance.

“Diana, Steve Trevor.”

She sits gracefully in a chair, smiling at them.

“It is good to see you calm and,” here her smile twinkles with the mischief Steve is familiar with in Diana’s eyes, “clean.”

He smiles back. Diana, on the other hand, is frowning.

“Mother, do you know how this miracle has happened?”

Steve stops her, reminding her “Diana, does your mother know anything about what’s happened?”

Startled once more, Diana sheepishly apologized to her mother before reporting faithfully everything that had happened since their departure.

During several moments in the narrative, Hippolyta’s tanned face bleached white. By the end she had tears in her eyes, mouth set in a fierce line, pride in her daughter etched into her very being.

“My daughter, you have done a great deed, one not all of Olympus united could achieve.” She leaves her seat and kneels in front of the bed where Diana was seated, still clutching Steve.

Mortified, Diana began to protest, only to be cut off by the certainty in her mother’s next words.

“I honor you. What you have done is a wonder.” The gravity of the moment paralyzes Diana, while Steve watches peacefully, accepting the honor as his lover’s due.

A moment later, Hippolyta stands and draws her daughter into a tight embrace, whispering, “You have come back to me. Thank you, daughter.” They hold each other fiercely, before the queen returns to her seat.

Wiping her eyes, Diana beams at her mother, who has once more drawn regality around her like a shield.

“Now, as to the matter of your marriage.”

“WHAT?” “Marriage?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm off on an adventure. Next update will be Monday - here's a short chapter to hold you over until then.
> 
> See you next chapter.


	5. Love's Not Time's Fool

 

Ignoring for the moment the sputters of her daughter and her son-in-law, Hippolyta unwraps the package she had brought with her, hitherto unnoticed. A leather-bound book is revealed, much like the one Diana remembers from her childhood, the one that first immersed her into the complicated world of her father.

Holding it out, she shows them a moving portrait of a matronly looking woman, stout, curvy, and brunette. An unhappy curve sits on her mouth, as if she has just bitten into a lemon.

“This,” she says, “is Hera, goddess of marriage.” The picture continues to move, fascinating both Steve, who has seen nothing like it, and Diana, who is thirsty for knowledge of her father’s people.

Hippolyta looks directly at Diana. “She was married to your father.”

Diana frowned. “He was fickle, then.”

Her mother nods matter-of-factly. “Yes. He had numerous affairs, among the denizens of Olympus and with mortals.”

Looking at the portrait, she softly adds, “She never accustomed herself to it. Each lover was a fresh wound.”

Diana asks, confused, “Was she not aware? Did she not give consent?”

“He never asked for her permission,” Hippolyta answers quietly. “Your father was a being of greatness, marvelous to behold. But with Hera, he did not act with honor.”

Seeing Steve’s bafflement, Hippolyta explains, “Here, among the Amazons, one negotiates the terms of a partnership, at least those not expressly confined to a night’s pleasure. If one wishes to take another to their bed, consent must be given or the partnership dissolved. In the world of men, that partnership is called marriage, sworn to in a ceremony, and involves many more—restrictions.”

Steve looks thoughtful, then shelves his many questions, instead asking only, “What does she have to do with us? Our—our supposed marriage?” He chokes on the last word.

Hippolyta gives him a look. “Patience, my son.”

Steve inexplicably blushes, as Diana’s brows rise up. The Queen of the Amazons merely continues, turning the page.

The image shows Hera, a look of green jealousy and wrath on her face, pointing at various mortals and gods, shimmering gold shooting forth from her outstretched hand and forming chains around couples.

“A favorite punishment for those who crossed her, whether through affairs with her husband, speaking against marriage, or some trifling insult, was to bind individuals together in an irrevocable marriage bond.”

Diana pales. “Steve,” she breathes, “the night on the boat.” Steve catches on quickly, paling as well.

“Mother, did you not declare to me the gods were dead?” Diana asks, somewhat frantically.

“I suspected they were, those many years ago, but it is difficult to kill a god, even more so many at once. It is possible some escaped, wounded and powers diminished, but still alive.

Steve interjects, “But how could she have heard us? We were in the middle of the ocean!”

Hippolyta shrugs. “Never underestimate the vanity of a goddess. She probably has some enchanted device to catch mentions of her name or office.”

His brow furrows. “So she, what, she heard us joking about marriage, so she married us? Without us knowing?”

Hippolyta takes both their left hands, swiping a thumb over the ring finger of each. A golden glow appears briefly, before fading.

“Is the custom now among your people to exchange rings at a wedding?” Hippolyta asks.

Dumbly, staring at his hand as if it belonged to someone else, Steve nods.

“There is a bond between you, apparent to those familiar with Hera’s magic. You are, for all intents and purposes, joined in matrimony.”

“What does that mean?” Steve says, “I mean, we didn’t say vows, we didn’t agree to anything.”

Hippolyta scowls. “It means you are bound to each other, for eternity, unable to wed another without the breaking of the bond by Zeus, who, I am afraid to say, is not available.” Her eyes are fiery. “It was Hera’s _blessing_ ” here she spat the word out, “that subjugated the Amazons to Man. To be married by Hera’s powers is to have another in your heart – in time, you may begin to feel each other’s emotions. You will need each other in a way that invites weakness. Needless to say, the potential for abuse is—great.”

Shaking away memories, Hippolyta looks at them seriously. “She used her marriage bonds to punish, but there were some who wished for them, with all their heart. The bond is neither a good nor an evil. Only—potential.”

Diana and Steve find they cannot meet each other’s eyes.

Understanding the many implications of her words, Hippolyta takes their discomfort in stride.

“As to your survival, Steve Trevor, _that_ is more difficult to untangle. I am aware of few ways to bless a mortal with immortality. You were not born to a god?”

Steve shakes his head, interest sharpened and glad for a non-matrimonial subject.

“In days of old, Zeus and others have rewarded heroes or lovers thusly but the act required a great deal of power. If the gods remain in this world, none have the power for that deed. The last way, though.” Hippolyta watches them carefully.

“Hera, at one time, had a garden, tended to by the Hesperides. In that garden a single tree grew, producing golden apples.”

Steve, following each word, narrows his eyes, murmuring, “ _Golden_ apples.” Turning to Diana, he says, “Diana. On the boat, our breakfast. You gave me an apple. It was gold.”

Diana’s eyes are wide. “I did not remember bringing them on board.”

Hippolyta continued. “These apples, when eaten, gifted immortality.”

Steve looks as if he was about to choke. “Immortality?” he sputters.

The Queen’s eyebrow lifts. “Is it so hard to imagine? You suffered catastrophic wounds and yet you sit here, assuredly among the living.”

“But why, Mother,” Diana asks, puzzled, “Why would Hera wish to preserve Steve’s life?”

Pursing her lips, Hippolyta admits, “I am not certain as to her motives. But the results are undeniable. Steve Trevor, you have been gifted with health, youth, and eternity.”

Considering him, and taking in his increased pallor, she reassures him, “Your physical power will never match Diana’s, or that of any born deity. Your body is mostly unchanged. Do not fret.” She looks wry. “Immortality is often less of a certainty than one expects.”

She leaves them, then, to absorb the bombshell dropped into their lives, after a final kiss on Diana's forehead and polite nod for Steve.

 

*

 

“Ste—” He presses a finger to her lips, stopping her words gently.

Looking overwhelmed, he requests, “Look, can we just—sleep? I need—I don’t know what I need, just, I know sleep will help.”

His voice is distant, eyes closed off.

Crestfallen, she asks warily, “Shall I leave?”

Steve’s eyes refocus suddenly. “No! I meant—“ He scrubs his hands through his hair.

“Diana, pretty much nothing makes sense right now. I woke up from what I thought was death into a divine marriage and immortality. My world is tipped upside-down.” He drops his hands from his hair to her shoulders, running them up to cup her face tenderly.

“But I know that there’s nowhere I want to be except beside you.” He thumbs away a tear. “I love you. That won’t change, a bushel of golden apples or not.”

She reaches out and mirrors his hands with her own, resting her forehead on his.

They are here. They are alive. They are together.

“I love you, Steve Trevor.”

Smiling, he reaches over to grab a pillow from beside them, offering it to her.

“Will you, Diana of Themyscira, daughter of Hippolyta and Zeus, take me to be your naptime partner, to hold throughout the night and to share a blanket with, through chilly drafts and snoring?”

Slightly confused, yet sensing his humor, Diana takes the pillow gamely.

“Yes, Steve Trevor. I will.”

With that, they make themselves comfortable, wrapped in each other’s arms. They do not know what the future will bring but in this moment, they need nothing more than this.

 

*

 

Aphrodite taps the mirror, dispersing the image of Diana and Steve.

Her hand comes down to brush over Hera’s hair, the sleeping goddess pillowed on her lap.

She looks up at the lone tree in the garden, taking in the bare branches, devoid of any fruit, as it would be for decades to come, before smiling down at her snoring partner

“Your revenge, dearest, is complete.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. For now.  
> Thanks for reading, everyone, and thanks especially to those who commented.
> 
> I'll see you next time.

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as crack, or really, a response to my indignation that a Greek Amazon wouldn't know what marriage was when, like, HERA, was a huge deal in the mythology. But then, I don't even know, it got a heart or something, and, well, here.
> 
> Also, having complained about mythological accuracy, I now claim my right to hypocrisy. I don't even know: Hera suddenly had a lady friend, Zeus was actually really in love with Hippolyta, and, for my peace of mind, no one is related to each other (Greek mythology, why).
> 
> The series title refers to Shakespeare's Sonnet 116, as do the chapter headings. A bark is a type of boat.
> 
> See you all next chapter.


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